you put your arms around me (and i'm home)
by Pachamama9
Summary: From the beginning, it's always been Steve and Bucky, Bucky and Steve. And it always will be. To the end of the line. 1 - Steve meets Bucky for the first time when some bullies are trying to take his lunch money.
1. It Ain't Gonna Rain No More

_A/N: So, I've recently discovered my love of the Stucky ship and will therefore be sailing this ship to the ends of the earth (or to the end of the line). This multichap will be basically describing the development of Steve and Bucky's relationship, from the time they meet at six years old and onward. Let's do this!_

 _Also, the title of each chapter will come from a song that was popular during that year. This chapter has 'It Ain't Gonna Rain No More' by Wendell Hall. The song came out in 1923 but got popular in 1924. It's a carefree view of the time period, with oddly brief mentions of death and illness that reflect the way a kid views the world. Like how Steve views the world at this point in time._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own the Marvel characters or anything Marvel-related. I just love them to death._

* * *

The day Steve met Bucky was the day he nearly lost his lunch money for the week. He was only six years old, yet he knew the importance of money for his family. It'd always been Steve and Ma and Steve, Steve and Ma, and together they preserved every penny they could.

Steve had always been a sickly child, and today he was feeling particularly nauseated; he knew that eating lunch today would only make him feel worse, so he saved his lunch money to give to Ma when he got home. She always loved it when she had a little extra money. But as he left school, pocketing a tin can he found in the road, he was immediately ambushed by a couple of eight-year-olds from school. These children were especially brutal to Steve in school: Robbie, Paul, and Warren. As he was smart, tiny, and sickly, he was an easy target. Warren, their ringleader, stepped up to Steve with a fierce glower. "Hey, Stevie," he said. Steve hated when people called him that. "You weren't at lunch today."

Steve glared right back. His ma had taught him never to back down from anyone, not even Warren, although he was twice his height and weight. "That's none of your business," he snapped. He tried to go around the boys, but they only swerved in his path.

"So you've still got it, then?" Robbie added. "The money?"

Steve didn't lie, for his mom taught him to be honest; he didn't see any reason for it. "Yes," he replied, "but it's mine."

Warren and the others snickered. "Not anymore, Stevie!" They were surrounding him now; instead of backing up, Steve held his bookbag in front of himself like a shield, bracing his feet against the concrete. "Hand it over," said Warren in a threatening tone.

"Or we'll beat you up!" Paul chimed in. He was the smallest of the three, but he was by far the meanest. "Give us the money, you baby!"

Robbie lunged at Steve, cackling when he jerked backwards in response in anticipation of a blow. "What are you gonna do, cough on us?" Robbie lunged again, but this time he grabbed at Steve's bag, thinking the money was inside. Steve was physically weak, but his will was strong, so he pulled back as hard as he could, stomping on Robbie's foot as the other boy grabbed Steve's shoulders.

Robbie howled in pain, and then Warren's fist met Steve's face.

Steve fought back as hard as he could, but still, before he knew it, he was on the ground, the money he cherished so much well-protected inside of his shoe. "Where's the money?" Warren snapped, as Robbie landed another kick to his side.

"Hey!" A shout interrupted the boys, and Steve lifted his head to see a boy with messy brown hair and startling blue eyes coming towards them. "Get away from him!"

"Make me—" Warren began, before he was rewarded with a punch to his nose. "Ow!"

Steve realized his rescuer was a boy named Jack or James or something like that, another kid in their class who was probably the tallest he knew. Steve lived in the same tenement as him, so he knew his face well, just not his name.

The rest of the boys scattered, frightened of another hard hit from the dark-haired boy. "You okay?" he asked Steve, extending a hand to help him up.

Steve accepted the hand, getting back to his feet and brushing himself off. At least the money was still safe, but he knew Ma wouldn't be happy he got beaten up again. "Yeah, I'm good," he assured him. "Thanks for helping me."

The other boy shrugged. "It wasn't a fair fight."

They walked back to the tenement together, where they arrived at their respective doors. "My name's Bucky, by the way," stated the other boy, sticking his hand out. "Bucky Barnes."

Steve, confused, said, "I thought your name was James."

The boy shrugged, as he often did. "James Buchanan Barnes. But my friends call me Bucky."

Steve felt warmed by the fact this 'Bucky' had referred to him as his friend. "Nice to meet you! I'm Steve Rogers."

Bucky grinned at him. "I know. You live at the end of the hallway, right?"

It was only now that Steve realized Bucky had been his neighbor since Steve moved to this tenement a few months prior. "Yeah," he replied. "That's me."

"Well," said Bucky (what a strange name, honestly), "it's nice to meet you, too."

* * *

 _A/N: Next chapter will be set a couple months later, and from Bucky's perspective. It's gonna switch off between the two every other chapter._

 _Challenges used:_

 _Fanfiction Writing Month: November [756]_

 _Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #137 (city) New York, NY_

 _If You Dare Challenge - #147 (Skirmish)_

 _Avengers Training Camp - Boot Camp - #19 (word) glare_


	2. Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen

_A/N: Warning for mentions of domestic violence, hints of child abuse, child labor, some gore._

 _Just so you guys know, the chapter names will each come from songs of the year that the chapter takes place in._

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

The day Bucky discovered the cause of Steve's illness was the day Steve nearly lost his legs.

The boys had become fast friends, spending every waking moment playing with each other. Whenever Bucky had a free moment, he ran over to Steve's door, banging his fist against the wood until either his weary mother or his best friend answered.

Bucky hated spending time at his own place; like Steve, he lived with his mother, for his dad had died before he was born in some kind of war. Although Bucky didn't struggle for money as much as Steve did, by no means did he live an easy life. Bucky's mom had a 'friend' now, a man who stayed in their house, slept in her bed, and helped pay the rent.

His name was Jon.

Bucky hated Jon.

Jon, once he got back from work, was often so drunk that he either passed out onto the couch or went out looking for a fight. Often he came home bruised and bloody. If not, he beat Bucky's mom till she was bruised and bloody.

Which was why Bucky stayed outside so much. His place always reeked of alcohol and blood, and he hated hearing his mom cry. Steve had become like an escape for him. Steve was his refuge.

Bucky spent so much time with Steve that he began to notice little things about him: he never came to school on Thursdays or Fridays, he was always gone midday Sunday, and he wheezed so much that sometimes he keeled over with the effort.

Steve was a tiny kid; honestly, Bucky didn't know where he'd gotten it, because he'd seen the old photograph of Steve's dad. He was a tall, well-built man. Where had Steve gotten his slight build, short height, and wheezing cough? It didn't make much sense. Bucky assumed, then, that Steve would grow out of it. And the sickness, too. They were only seven now, after all, so Steve still had time to grow.

But there was something else. It seemed to Bucky that Steve was perpetually exhausted and dirty, so something in the back of his head told him it couldn't have just be the illness. Illness didn't leave dark streaks on your clothes. Illness didn't make your hair smell like smoke. Illness didn't leave your fingers raw and bloody.

So when Bucky knocked on Steve's door to ask him to come and play, and he heard Steve's screams instead of his usual laughter, he grew frantic. "Steve!" he wailed. He pounded on the door, and then tried the doorknob, discovering the door was unlocked.

In his seven years of life, Bucky has never been so scared for someone outside of his family.

Steve was lying on the bed with his back flat, screaming and moaning and crying. From the shin down, both of his legs were a bloody mess, pink and red against stark white. His mother was trying to calm him, but it was impossible for her to pin him down, comfort him, and fix his legs at the same time.

When her tired eyes landed on Bucky, she gasped, "Bucky, quickly! Shut the door!"

Frightened, he did as she asked, slamming the door and rushing to her side as she beckoned to him. Her blue-and-white nurse's uniform was spotted with Steve's blood. Bucky's hands shook. "M-Mrs. Rogers?"

She didn't even glance at him; instead, she pinned Steve's legs beneath her strong arms and poured something over them that made Steve scream.

Bucky knew that scream.

It meant pain and blood and locked doors and fear and more pain— "Stop!" he screeched. "You're hurting him!"

"Bucky," she snapped, and he went quiet. Bucky had gotten to know her pretty well over the past few months, and he knew what most of her expressions meant. He had never seen this expression on her face before. It terrified him. "You must keep him calm. Hurry!"

Bucky ran to his friend's side. Steve's mouth was twisted in pain, his eyes scrunched shut. Carefully, Bucky placed on his friend's arm, one on the wrist and one by the elbow. "Steve!" His voice was whiny with fear, and his whole head surged with it, the goosebumps on his arms standing at attention."Steve!"

The blonde boy's bloodshot eyes met his, and all of a sudden their hands were intertwined, tiny fingers overlapping over tinier ones. "It hurts," he whimpered, as Mrs. Rogers stilled for a moment. His thin face was pink and grimy, cuts littering his skin. What had happened to him?

Bucky didn't know what to do. "It's okay," he said, gripping Steve's hand tightly. "You're gonna be okay." Steve was shaking violently, his fingers trembling, but still Bucky held fast. Steve was his friend, and he was never going to let him go.

It seemed like hours instead of minutes as Mrs. Rogers mended Steve's legs, and by the end of it, Steve was clenching his fingers so tightly that Bucky could scarcely feel his own.

The minute dose of morphine that she had administered to her son worked fast; soon, Steve's vicelike grip loosened, and he fell into a fitful sleep. Mrs. Rogers wound white cloth around Steve's legs and finally slumped to her knees at her son's bedside. They sat together in silence, both of them watching Steve intently. From Mrs. Rogers radiated fierce worry and boundless love, while Bucky was frightened out of his mind. "What—" He gulped. "What happened to him, Mrs. Rogers?"

She removed the nurse's cap from her head, wiping her face with one shaking hand. Her hands were Steve's hands, Bucky noticed, strong on the outside but malleable on the inside. Mrs. Rogers, in this moment, had been stripped of her courageous outer skin and now was tasked with answering Bucky's question. She sat on the on the bed opposite of Bucky, brushing the hair away from Steve's sticky forehead. Her voice was a rootless tree. "We needed the money," she whispered, "or they would've put us on the street."

Bucky frowned in thought. "I don't understand. Why—"

"I told him to go find a job," she explained, still staring at her son's pained face. "Newspapers or something, like the other little boys, but I—" Her voice broke. "He came home every time dirty and bloody, so I asked him where he—what happened, and he'd just smile and tell me, 'I got a job, Mama,' and hand me his pay. I knew it was at one of those factories, but we needed the money, so I didn't—"

It was the first time Bucky had seen Mrs. Rogers cry.

She was sobbing now, one hand pressed against her mouth as though to hold her anguish inside of her. "And—a-and then a man came today with my Steve in his arms, told me there'd been an accident—" Bucky glanced at Steve's legs and the blood staining Mrs. Rogers' front. "—and he dumped him on the floor and told me they'd be giving his job to someone else."

Bucky knew kids who worked, especially in family businesses making toys or clothes, but not many who worked in factories who were as young as Steve.

"He w-wasn't old enough," said Mrs. Rogers, answering his silent question. "He wasn't supposed to be—he shouldn't have been there, not yet, but they needed someone small enough to fit in the machinery… And Steve was so small; he'd always been a sickly kid, so he was so little…" She hiccuped. "They promised they'd still let him go to school, and they'd give us extra money because it wasn't technically allowed for someone so young… So I had to. I _had_ to. And then it started making him sick, but we needed the money—I couldn't live on the streets with him, not again, not again…"

All of a sudden, Bucky understood. Unlike Bucky's own mother, Mrs. Rogers was all alone in taking care of her son. She didn't have a second income supporting her, so she relied partially on Steve to help her pay the rent. That must have been why Steve always tried to spend his lunch money so sparingly; it explained why Steve was gone so often from school. The way a couple of Steve's fingers were crooked, the way his cough rattled inside of his chest… It all made sense now.

Mrs. Rogers slipped into Gaelic, cursing into her blood-spotted hands and mumbling to herself. In this moment, Mrs. Rogers looked like Bucky's mom, blood beneath her fingernails and despair staining her face.

Bucky stared at Steve, something like pride swelling inside of him. How could someone his age, only seven years old, be so impossibly brave? Bucky knew kids died in those factories every day; that's why his mother had refused to let him work and had instead taken Jon into her bed. _A few bruises_ , she told him once after Jon had punched her face into a bloody pulp, cupping his face in her hands, _is nothing compared to what losing you would do to me._

Bucky tightened his grip on Steve's fingers and rested his cheek against his friend's pale wrist, feeling the light pulse of blood rushing beneath Steve's skin.

How could someone so little be so brave?

* * *

 _Challenges used:_

 _Fanfiction Writing Month: December [1543]_

 _Avengers Training Camp - Boot Camp - (theme) friendship_


End file.
